I began transferring funds from my accounts discreetly, setting up a trust that none of them knew about. My lawyer in the city, a sharp young woman who knew exactly how cunning my family could be, helped me every step of the way. I recorded conversations, saved every email, and took photos of documents they had me sign without reading.

The day came when they suggested I move into a “nice home” where I would be “taken care of properly.” They played their parts well, acting as if they were concerned for my wellbeing. But I knew better. I had seen the brochures they left lying around, seen the cost of such places, and knew exactly how much they were planning to skim off the top.

When I finally “disappeared,” they didn’t panic. They were too busy planning how to split my assets. They called the police to cover their tracks, playing the role of the worried family to perfection. But when the officers came knocking, they were in for a surprise.